


contrived luck

by writtenFIRES



Series: Egotober 2017 [4]
Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Blood, Egotober, Mind fuckery, Nosebleeds, Psychological Horror, anyway, google feud...?, googs shows up for like five seconds at the very end lol, lol, so i don't recc this if ur looking for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 06:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12271092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenFIRES/pseuds/writtenFIRES
Summary: Egotober Day 4: feeling lucky?/Goretober Day 4: nosebleed"What is up, my cranky crew?!"





	contrived luck

**Author's Note:**

> guess who worked another ten and a half hour day
> 
> guess who took out her exhaustion and stress on some innocents

"What is up, my cranky crew?!"

Ethan grinned as he wrapped up his intro, getting straight into his usual rambling pre-game. It was going to entail a lot of talking to the camera anyway, since he was doing a bout of Google Feud. He'd gotten a decent amount of requests for it, likely thanks to Mark, and he was looking forward to having a go at the game show knock-off.

He ended up doing laughably bad, of course, whether he went into "Try Hard Mode" or not. He did surprisingly guess at a few though, and he had to admit he was feeling lucky. Finding his own thoughts on the matter humorous, he voiced them for the invisible audience, chuckling at the reference. Nailed it.

However, as he continued playing, delving deeper into seemingly more eccentric levels of the game, he began to get more and more of the answers right.

Ethan was flummoxed. He swore he didn't know half of these subjects, and a majority of his "answers" were complete guesses. Yet time and again, he racked up points, the words simply coming to him unbidden. It was almost spooky. Rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck, Ethan gave a sheepish grin and a shrug to the camera. "Guess I'm better at this whole 'predicting people' thing than I thought, huh? Too bad I can't seem to do it with _real_ people."

He considered ending the video there, but decided one more round couldn't hurt. Just to see if his winning streak was really a fluke.

Yet one round turned into five, then ten, and he'd lost track of the time long ago. Something about the guessing game had just... drawn him in. He didn't want to stop playing it, even as he stopped blinking, even as his eyes started to burn from staring at the white background on his screen. He hadn't checked his recording process in ages. He didn't even know if he _was_ still recording. Did it matter?

He hadn't lost a round yet, and with each passing victory, a pattern started to appear. Key words like "you," "feeling," and "lucky" all began showing up in the top answers more and more. Sometimes alone, sometimes in combination. It took Ethan far too long to notice.

The burning in his eyes became a sting, then an itch, but still he couldn't bring himself to blink. His fingertips slid across his keys- misspelling the word, "lucky." The keys were wet. Wet with...

With blood. _His_ blood. He knew, because now that he'd seen it, he could feel the steady drip of it from his chin. His lips were warm with the stuff but he hadn't opened his mouth to speak a single word, so he'd failed to notice. The substance was spilling steadily from his nose without rhyme or reason and Ethan should be frightened, he should be _startled_ but he wasn't. He brought up a hand to swipe at the blood but it did nothing, as the liquid just continued spilling and spilling.

The room spun and smelled of iron and still he didn't blink. Had he forgotten how? It felt like some unknown force was compelling him to do these things, to feel these crumbling sensations and thoughts. He couldn't think straight. The screen before him was a blur, with only a few words twitching into semi-clarity.

_**Feeling lucky?** _

The burning, itching, _stinging_ of his eyes became unbearable and Ethan cried out, burying his face in his hands, willing himself to _blink_. To get up. To do _something_. His body wouldn't respond. His brain felt detached, drifting away like a boat on the current. He tried to reach out, to dig his claws into it and draw it back.

Was he feeling lucky?

The words echoed in his head: a deep, robotic tone that was more accusation than question. His body convulsed, reeling in the chair and sending blood flying. He shuddered and gasped.

Google looked out at his latest psychological foray from Ethan's computer screen, his chest blindingly aglow and his smile dripping with malice. His gaze was cold and calculating. "Ok, Crank."

Ethan opened his eyes, and they were black.


End file.
